Alex's Adventures In Wonderland
by Malirunic
Summary: "Yassen's eyebrow lifted. 'I'm the White Rabbit, of course,' he told the bewildered Alex, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 'And you're Alice.'" Exactly what it sounds like. No plot, no pairings, no point.
1. Down the Rabbit Hole

_Alright folks, so it's been about 2948348974571 years since I've written a fanfiction. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if most of my former readers have already passed from this world. (Insert solemn silence.)_

_... So. This here is, as the title so aptly suggests, a questionable concoction of Alex Rider infused with Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, seasoned generously with Ridiculous and served with a side of pure, unadulterated Stupid. In later chapters, the Alice in Wonderland part will kind of die off... If there's even any interest in this story._

_**Rated**: K+, because even ten-year-olds can curse nowadays._

_**Warnings**: A bit of cursing, really bad humour, American English masquerading as UK English, lack of noticeable plot, shit writing, crossdressing (yahrly)._

_**Disclaimer**: Alex Rider belongs to me. I am his pimp. BELIEVE IT._

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**Chapter 1 - Down the Rabbit-Hole (To God knows where)**

Alex opened his eyes to the bizarre sight of Yassen Gregorovich, contract killer extraordinaire, dressed in a vaguely baroque-looking blue and white suit and... _rabbit ears _on his head, sitting at a little glass table calmly sipping tea.

"Hello, little Alex," the Yassen look-a-like (for Yassen would never dress in such ridiculous attire; it would be unprofessional) greeted far too nonchalantly. He continued to sip his tea, even as his gaze (somewhat eerily) never left Alex's figure.

The teenager in question blinked in bewilderment. "Who are you?" he asked the impersonator. "Why are you impersonating Gregorovich? Better yet, why are you impersonating Gregorovich in _rabbit ears_?"

Yassen-but-not-really-except-maybe-sort-of raised an amused eyebrow. "Clearly, your many near-death experiences and encounters with madmen bent on world conquest and/or destruction have not done a thing to mend your precocious temperament. From your tone, if me really being who I am is the lesser of two evils in your mind, I'd hate to consider who you're accusing me of being. Or, of course, I've simply not made a strong enough impression upon you." Oh. Definitely the real Yassen, then.

"...Yassen?" Alex asked incredulously.

"I believe we've established that is my name, yes."

"Why are you dressed like..." He gestured at the assassin's current attire.

Yassen's eyebrow lifted again. "I'm the White Rabbit, of course," he told the boy (though this designation would later be called into question, not that Alex knew that at the time) as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And you're Alice."

Alex's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. With a (very sophisticated, thanks very much) long-suffering sigh, Yassen A.K.A. the Rabbit gestured with one gloved hand at Alex's current habiliments. Upon glancing down at himself, Alex was shocked to discover he himself was clothed in a very feminine, very frilly little blue and white dress.

"..."

Alex could do naught but blink in disbelief, stunned into silence. Under the amused gaze of Yassen, the young spy slowly reached down and patted his lower stomach area.

Thank god. It seemed he was still fully male.

Upon seeing Alex once again reassured of his own masculinity, Yassen pulled his attention away from the admittedly entertaining spectacle and pulled out a strange gold pocket watch. With a glance at its face, the assassin frowned lightly. "It appears I am running a tad behind schedule," he announced. "I must get going. Goodbye, little Alex." With that, he stood up, pushed his chair in and began walking away.

Alex shook himself out of his stupor. "Hey, wait!" he called to the retreating man. "What the hell's going on here?"

Yassen did not even pause in his step, prompting the younger male to huff frustratedly and jog after him. "Hey, wait up!"

Strangely, Yassen seemed to move more and more quickly away, despite his gait not changing. Alex ran faster, soon chasing the man at a dead sprint. He was getting closer, closer, until-

Did Yassen just _disappear_? Alex gaped in disbelief. One moment the man was just metres away, the next he was- gone. Poof, vanished. Actually, there was not even a 'poof'; he just vanished.

Alex slowed his jog as he approached the location from which it seemed the assassin had vanished from. To his astonishment (and really, that was happening far too often recently), he found a hole, of all things. Directly at the spot Yassen had been standing previously was a very deep pit, approximately one metre wide and with no bottom in sight. Scowling deeply, Alex considered his situation. To jump, or not to jump? A cursory glance around the surrounding area showed an endless expanse of white marble floor; even the glass tea table had seemingly vanished. Vaguely, Alex wondered if he would find a hole there, too. With a doleful, woe-is-me-whom-fate-utterly-despised sigh, he decided that considering his questionable yet nonetheless remarkable fortune when it came to these sort of things, the fall most likely not kill him. Gods, he hated his life.

Crossing his fingers despondently, Alex Rider closed his eyes and jumped.

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_Dammit. It's waaaaaay too short. I promise the next one will be longer. I promise. If anyone likes this thing._


	2. The Pool of Blood

_Right. So. Thank you so much to the four people who reviewed! :D As promised, this chapter is actually of a decent-ish length. It's also really, _really _bad. I couldn't even bear to proofread it. That's how bad it is._

_I know this chapter's events don't quite match up with the chronology of Lewis Carroll's novel, and I use a pool of blood instead of a pool of tears, but beyond this chapter, you'll be hard pressed to find anything vaguely alluding to Alice in Wonderland. This is where it all starts going downhill, folks._

_Also, I admit to using one movieverse character description here- that of Mrs Jones. I actually liked her film portrayal. All you need to know about this portrayal is that she is black. That is all._

_**Disclaimer**: If I married Anthony Horowitz, then killed him, would the rights of Alex Rider go to me?_

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_**Previously**:_

_Crossing his fingers despondently, Alex Rider closed his eyes and jumped._

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**Chapter 2 - The Pool of Blood (And similarly depressing things)**

_Thump._

Alex opened his eyes in disbelief. He couldn't have fallen more than a foot! The hole had looked endless before. If everything so far had been some sort of skewed dream-like sequence (for such bizarre happenings certainly couldn't have occurred otherwise), what the hell happened to the Endless Falling scene?

Really, Alex thought. Terribly anticlimactic. Very poor form for a cliché.

A brief glance around revealed not his previous surroundings nor the edges of the hole he'd jumped into, but rather... Pink. Just pink.

All around Alex was a world of pink; the leaves on the trees were a pale rosy pink, the cobblestones beneath his feet were salmon-coloured, and just a ways away a dainty little cottage sat almost dwarfed amidst the grasses in all its radiant fuchsia glory.

With a cry of pain, Alex was abruptly pulled from his observations by a sharp, sudden sting on his left forearm. A tiny (we're talking 'size of a sesame seed' tiny) metal capsule had somehow lodged itself into his skin, prompting a tiny trickle of blood to drip onto the ground.

Alex grimaced and flicked the projectile gently out of the cut, much in the manner one would remove a splinter. The teenager then proceeded to look around for the source of the undersized weapon, eyes finally locking on a minuscule (we're talking 'size of butter stick' minuscule) dark haired and dark skinned, vaguely feminine human figure with two large, circular protrusions on either side of its (her?) head and a tail in its (her?) backside aiming a miniature gun at Alex from the cobblestone stones beneath his feet.

"Who are you?" The figure squeaked in a authoritative, mouse-like manner. Ah, that's what the round things were.

Alex eyed the figure curiously. "Better question, _what _the hell are _you_?"

The mouse-woman might've glared at him coldly, but Alex's eyes weren't quite good enough to tell. "Do not change the subject," she squeaked icily, adjusting her grip on the gun. "Identify yourself."

And, before Alex's eyes, the figure grew. She grew and grew, until she'd matched and then even surpassed Alex's height by a few inches. Alex's eyes widened with shock and some amount of horror.

"_Mrs Jones?_"

"Alex! What a surprise," the woman exclaimed, now at a perfectly normal human pitch. (The ears stayed, though.) Her voice was noticeably warmer, and the gun (which had enlarged with her) was safely tucked away into her belt.

"Is there a reason you've got... mouse ears? And a tail? Or is it just a trend thing?"

Mrs Jones cocked an eyebrow, as if he had just asked something terribly obvious. Her tone mirrored her expression. "Why, I'm the Mouse, of course," she stated matter-of-factly. "And you're Alice."

Alex clenched his fists in his hair frustratedly. "Of course. Obviously. First Yassen, now you! What on earth is going-"

"Can you swim?" Mrs Jones interjected.

Alex blinked. "Pardon?"

"I hope you can," she continued blandly. "though remaining buoyant in a pool of blood must be a vastly different experience from doing so in water."

Alex yelped as he glanced towards his feet. "What!" He cried. A good six inches of blood licked at the pair's ankles, and the level was rising. "Where did all this blood come from?"

"Your bullet wound, obviously. Sorry about that," Mrs Jones apologized sincerely.

The teenaged spy stared disbelievingly at the unassuming cut in his forearm. "But it hardly bled a drop!" He insisted. "And it's not even open anymore! How could all this have come from my arm? I don't even _have_ this much blood in my whole bloody _body_!" The blood had risen to his knees.

"That's not true," Mrs Jones replied. "Or, rather, it wasn't."

"...You've no idea how much sense that made."

"That was the intention, yes."

"Argh! Sarcasm! It was sarcasm!"

"It made complete sense, though. You used to be big, now you're small. Small enough to drown in a single drop of your big-self's blood, I might add."

Comprehension dawned on Alex. Mrs Jones hadn't grown at all; he had shrunk! ...Not that it made any more sense than the previous theory.

"...Alright... So how do we get _out_?" He asked as calmly as he could in the situation.

Mrs Jones, now grimacing at the mess the blood made of her orderly suit top, shrugged. "We hired you because you're good at these things, Alex. Figure something out."

"You don't even pay me," Alex ground out.

"A minor detail," Mrs Jones countered.

Alex heaved a sigh and calmed his (perfectly rational, thanks) panicking. With his passage of thought now unobstructed, Alex thought.

And thought.

And thought some more.

...But alas, try as he might, the sheer _surreal _factor of the whole thing clouded his mind far too much for a single rational thought. Mrs Jones noticed this. "Alright, since you obviously are currently experiencing temporary braindeath, I will improvise, yes?"

No reply. Alex was still mostly catatonic.

"How about..." And here Mrs Jones adopted an intense thinking-face, "We... Dry up this pool by telling the driest tale we know!"

Somehow in Alex's completely short-circuited mind, the suggestion made perfect sense. So he nodded his consent and motioned for her to continue.

Mrs Jones took a deep breath and began her tale. "My tale is long, and rather dull."

"Mm, your tail is long, alright. And, no offense meant, but brown _is _a rather dull color."

Mrs Jones paused. "...Wait, what?"

"Your tail! I was just speaking the truth!"

"Yes, I know my tale is long and dull! But you haven't even heard it yet!"

"It speaks?"

"No; I speak it!"

"You speak for your tail?"

"Exactly!"

"...I will not judge. Do go on."

Mrs Jones sighed in exasperation. "Alright. My tale is one of Niccolò Machiavelli. Machiavelli was born in Florence, Italy, the first son, and third child, of attorney Bernardo di Niccolò Machiavelli, and his wife, Bartolomea di Stefano Nelli. The Machiavelli family are believed to be descended from the old marquesses of Tuscany, and to have produced thirteen Florentine Gonfalonieres of Justice, one of the-"  
"Hey look, a purple cat!"

"Alex! Mind your manners!"

"No, I'm serious! Look that way! It's a purple cat!"

A ways off farther on the cobblestone path stood, indeed, a figure dressed in a violet striped suit adorned with violet cat ears and striped tail, providing a sharp contrast to the massive pinkness of the surroundings (they're still in that pink world, remember?). The figure's back was turned to Alex and Mrs Jones, but its outline distinguished him as a male, likely an adult.

"Let's ask for help from him!" Alex suggested. "Hey! Purple cat over there! D'you think you could give us a hand here?" He shouted.

The purple cat-man turned around slowly.

Alex stared, this time in true horror. "No way... _It's you_..."

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_...BATHE IN THE BADNESS OF IT ALL._

_Worst cliffhanger in the history of forever. Sue me. (Actually, please don't. I'm poor.)_

_The speech on Machiavelli was copied straight from Wikipedia. (Not trying to hate on Machiavelli or anything. I actually like the guy. Assassin's Creed made me like him. I just needed a random topic.)_

_Question for you- What's your opinion regarding the character Sabina Pleasure?_


End file.
